Don't be afraid, you're already dead
by somniloque
Summary: Sam is dead. Well, it happens, even to the best ones - after all, people die every day. But not everybody receives the Second Chance - a chance to come back and help the people who stayed on Earth. She gets it but, of course, there's one little catch - she's got only seven days... Will she do what she is supposed to do? Will she help her loved ones? Sam-centric, multi-chap.
1. Zero

**A/N: Hi. :) Some of you was reading and reviewing my previous story 'The Throat Ripper'. When I ended it I promised I would write something new. And I kept the promise. ;) Here's new story, different than the previous one. What have I to add? Everything you need to know now is in the summary and this Chapter. **

**I don't know how often I will be publishing new Chapters because I'm extremely busy nowadays - being a senior in a high school sucks. :/ At first I need some reviews to know if it's make any sense to publish new Chapters. So if you read this and leave a review, I'll be very thankful! **

**That's all so far. Hope you'll like this kind of unusual story.**

**PS The title is taken from Akron/Family song 'Don't be afraid, you're already dead (Love is simple)'.**

* * *

**Zero**

I've never believed in all these fireworks connected with death like going toward the light in a tunnel but when I'm dying, I expect to experience even a substitute of spectacular dying from movies, for example this quickly displayed video with scenes from my life. But all of it turns out to be a bullshit, nothing like that happens. When I'm dying, I see only blinding white light and then a darkness. Nothing more.

Too bad.

I've never believed in an afterlife – Hell, Heaven, Purgatory, reincarnation and the others I don't know. I've always laughed at those gulls who believed there's something after death – I knew there's nothing more, you just die and you're not here.

But when I'm dying all my beliefs are verified.

(Verified... how the hell I know this word?)

I raise my languid eyes and immediately after I close it back, blinded by the glare of white light. My heart beats anxiously, that light makes me dread – after all, in a certain sense, it was caused my death. Finally, I nerve myself to re–open my eyes and look around vacantly.

It seems I'm in some kind of hall which is high and spacious, it looks like a church. And – of course – it's white. I've never liked white colour, I died because of white and it seems that whiteness will torment me even after death.

I stand up slowly, expecting a pain or even a dizziness but nothing like this happens, standing up isn't a problem for me what makes me a little bit surprised – after all, I got hit hard before my death. I look down and I notice that I wear in a thin white dress (this freaking whiteness again) and I feel my hair on back, although I had a ponytail while dying. My dress is sleeveless and I'm barefoot but I don't feel a cold. I don't feel a hot too, I don't feel anything, what disorients me because I feel like this body wasn't mine.

Where the hell am I? What is this strange hall and where is it? Why am I here if I'm dead and after death there's only eternal darkness... at least, I think so. I'm sure about one thing – I'm dead. How do I know it? Officially, I was unconscious until death but I heard and felt everything, although I couldn't see and speak. I heard the doctors who reanimated me and a voice of one of them, "time of death – 3.45 a.m.", and just after it the darkness fell. And now, I'm suddenly here, in this strange hall and I'm wondering if this is normal. I don't know, I died for the first time...

"Welcome," I hear suddenly. I jump in a fear and I turn back hastily, trying to not show up I'm scared. In the front of me stands a young man, he's in his mid-twenties, I guess. He's tall, slim and his hair is as fair as platinum. He's kinda hot. He's wearing a white suit and shirt, but this time I'm not surprised.

"Who are you?" I ask, trying to make my voice sounding aggressively as usual when I'm disoriented and uncertain. Because who wouldn't be disoriented and uncertain on my place? "Where am I? Why all of it is happening? After all, I'm dead, right?" I ask.

"Calm down." A man's voice is calm and melodic. I frown. Who he thinks he is, St. Peter? How did he come here? How did _I _come here? I shift from one foot to the other, wanting an immediately answer. "I know you've got plenty of questions. Everyone who comes here is disoriented but it's normal, you don't have to worry."

"Don't I?" I mutter. I was sure I'm dead and suddenly it turns out I'm still conscious – nope, there's nothing to worry about. "Okay, let's state one thing," I say after a while, "I'm dead, am I?"

"Yes," agrees the man calmly, "you are dead."

"SO WHAT THE HELL AM I DOING HERE?" I yell. I'm angry, as usual when I'm in an uncertain situation, it's my way to defend myself – an attack. But my body doesn't react in a way I'd like to because I don't feel that specific hot on my cheeks, pounding heart and another signs of anger what makes me irritated even more. "Is it the Heaven? Are you St. Peter?" I add softer, a little bit calmer.

"No." The man seems to be impassive – like he would hear it everyday. "It's not the Heaven, Hell or even the Purgatory. We're in the Underworld. And I'm not St. Peter, my name is Rafael."

"Okay... Rafael," I mutter, "why am I here, if I'm dead? What... the Underworld... is?" I raise my hands and do an air quotes.

Suddenly I want to laugh, everything seems to be so absurd. The Underworld? Really? Such things exist only in movies and books but they don't exist in reality... I feel like in a fairytale, like Alice in Wonderland. Everything is so surrealistic and abnormal...

"Not everybody can arrive to the Underworld," explains Rafael still by calm and even bored voice. "Only the chosen ones – people who get the Second Chance. The Second Chance," he adds when I open my mouth to ask what the damn is the Second Chance, "is the possibilty to come back to Earth to say goodbye to their relatives. The Second Chance is usually received by young innocent people who died suddenly – people like you."

I laugh ironically. I am innocent, like really? But I get serious a moment after. What has he just said? That to this strange Underworld arrive people who _get a chance to come back to Earth_? My heart starts to pound again. I know I'm dead but it doesn't matter I'm okay with that. Rafael's words make me hopeful. Coming back to Earth? Does it mean...

"So what?" I frown, trying to be cynical, but at heart I'm excited. "I'll get resurrected? You'll bring me back to life? I'll be alive? Is it possible?" I don't intend to ask the last question but I don't control my words, excited about coming back to life. I would be alive again, I would be with my friends again... When I think about them, I feel anxious. How much time has passed since my death? Do they already know I'm dead? How did they react?

"Yes, it's possible," Rafael says, looking at his hands, "respecting some rules. We call it the Statute."

Of course. I should've realise there's some hidden catch. "What rules does this... Statute... involve?"

Rafael looks at me. His eyes are black, I can't distinguish apple of the eye and iris. They seem to be so dark that they're absorbing the light what contrast so much with omnipresent whiteness. I feel strange, anxious. "The Statute includes two rules. The first one – you'll come back to Earth for seven days," he says.

I get crestfallen. Seven days... I expected my coming back will be indefinite, not only a week, but after a moment I conclude that seven days are better than nothing. "How is it possible?" I doubt. "I'll suddenly get resecurred, when everyone thinks I'm dead and I'll leave them after seven days?"

"This is what the second Rule says – you'll be immortal. It means you'll be invisible and immaterial. To make it easier," he adds, seeing my frowned face, "let's state you'll be a ghost. Nobody will be able to see you or hear you."

"A ghost..." I repeat, thoughtful. Suddenly, this idea doesn't seem to be so exciting as in the beginning. I thought I would be mortal, like nothing happened, like I was alive. But how my loved ones would react if I suddenly got revived?

The truth is that I'm not ready to death. Not at all. I'm only seventeen, this is not a good age to dying. I have friends, popular webshow and a school to graduate... I _had_. Now I'm dead. Everything happened so suddenly. It's so unfair, I want to scream in fury, but – surprisingly – my body is calm, it doesn't react at my commands, like it wasn't mine.

"You can't show any negative emotions in the Underworld," Rafael says, like he was reading in my thoughts. "I understand your anger," he adds suddenly and softly what makes me surprised, "you're only seventeen and in some moment you just learn out you're dead. It can make you upset."

"Was it supposed to be a comfort?" I growl, crossing arms on chest.

"I mean," explains Rafael, "that it's normal you feel treated unfair. That's why you received the Second Chance."

"But will it change anything? It's only a week and nobody will see and hear me," I wonder. "Nothing will happen, I'll be still dead."

"You're not the only one who suffers, your friends suffer too," Rafael says and I'm crestfallen again. My friends... Do they already know? I don't know how much time has passed since my death. If they know, how did they react? "You can help them to deal with this pain."

"In seven days?" I raise my eyebrows. "I don't mean to be selfish but it's hard to take someone's death in a week... And how have I to help them if I am, as you nicely said, immaterial?"  
"You can do more than you think, Sam," says Rafael mysteriously and turns around. "All you have to do is just taking the opportunity."

"Wait!" I call, there's tons of question I want to ask but he doesn't react. After a moment I feel a weakness and darkness covers me once again.


	2. One

**A/N: Thank you, Invader Johnny and iamfinethanks for your reviews. It was a pleasure to read them. :)**

**And here we go with the new Chapter. Enjoy reading and leaving reviews! :)**

**Lil' warning: This chapter includes some swearing.**

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**One**

When I open my eyes again, I'm standing on the street. The day is cloudy and rainy but I don't feel the cold which – I think so – drops on my face. Looking at moving branches of trees I assume that a quite strong wind is blowing, but I don't feel it too, just like my clothes – these same I was wearing while death but clean – and my hair – in a ponytail again – they don't move at wind. People is passing me by but nobody looks at me, like they didn't notice that a girl suddenly appeared on the street.

I remember what did Rafael say and the Second Rule of Statute... _Nobody will see you, nobody will hear you_. I'm immaterial. I'm a ghost. I shake my head – visiting the Underworld seems to be so unrealistic for me like the thought that I'm generally dead.

I'm really, really dead. This all is really happening. And although I've come back to Earth for a week, I'm still dead. And nothing will change it. Never. What will happen after a week, when my time will come? Will a eternal darkness happen then, will my imagination about death come true? What is a week comparing to eternity?

Not so much.

I recognize the place where I am, how couldn't I recognize it? It's a sidewalk in the front of Bushwell Plaza.

Bushwell Plaza. The place where everything started... and ended.

I walk across the street when the red light is on but I don't worry about the cars which just rides across me. Strange feeling.

But the stranger thing is that walking across the street was the last thing I did when I was alive and it's the first thing I do when I'm dead.

I come in Bushwell Plaza's hall through open door. I glance at the calendar hanging on a wall. It's October 21st and it means that only one day has passed since my death. I sigh slightly, not knowing what to expect. After this day everyone surely knows I'm dead but what more? Has there been my funeral already? It sounds absurdly – _my funeral_...

Behind porter's counter as usual sits mean Lewbert and lazily flips a newspaper pages, muttering something angrily. Actually I don't care, he doesn't see me anyway, but I can't stop myself and I come up to the counter. I reach out my hand to grab an orange lying in a bowl on the counter, wanting to throw it in Lewbert, but my hand only goes through it – like the cars on the street. I try few more times and when I don't succeed, I growl, irritated.

So I don't think I can ride a lift.

I run at the eight floor. Usually I would be panting after it but now I'm not tired at all, what I notice with slight raising my eyebrows. I take a breath and I hold an air in my lungs for over two minutes but I don't stew, I don't feel the lack of oxygen. Wow. Being immortal has some advantages.

What doesn't change the fact I'd rather be alive.

I stand on the hallway, between apartments 8–C and 8–D and I glance anxiously at the doors. I'm not sure if I should walk through any of them but if I'm here, there's surely some purpose... I take a deep breath (which I don't need, though) and I come up to 8–C apartment's door because I feel I should come to my best friend's flat at first.

What should I do? I stand by the door for a moment and then, despite my previous failures, I try to push the door but my hand only goes across the door. Yeah. Why did I even expect I would be able to grab this stupid handle? I close my eyes and take a step. When I open eyes I'm in the 8–C apartment.

It hasn't changed at all since I've been here for the last time, still alive. Actually, what was I supposed to expect, that Spencer and Carly would paint all walls in black and hang up my photos everywhere? The flat is surprisingly empty what makes me worried a little bit. It's strange because this apartment is hardly never quiet. I listen for a while but I hear only a clock ticking in a kitchen. I decide to check upstairs.

I hear sobbing when I'm in the middle of the stairs. I recognize Carly, so I move faster and run at the second floor. My best friend is probably in her bedroom and when I come in here without hesitating, I stand stock–still.

Wearing black, paler than usual Carly sits on her bed curled and cries, choking with tears. Her hair is disheveled, she's wearing track–suit and too big for her hoodie (I guess it's Spencer's) and she has no make–up put up. That all doesn't fit her at all. But not Carly shocks me the most, our photos scattered around her do.

I don't need to breath anymore but I feel the lack of oxygen. It's Carly, Carls, Carlotta, Carly–oh, my clever, beautiful, cute best friend sitting in this dark room among our common photos and crying in a pain, a despair, a longing.

I feel a lump in my throat. Carly, Carly, Carly... She shouldn't cry. She shouldn't experience this. She's too pretty, too good, too precious. She doesn't deserve this pain.

"Carly!" I yell, coming up to her, although it doesn't make any sense because she doesn't hear me and doesn't see me as well. But I don't care about it now because when I see my crying best friend, my heart is breaking in two, I'm mad at the whole world, at the driver who hit me with a car fatally, at the doctors who didn't save my life, at Rafael and his stupid Statute, I'm mad at all of them because my Carly is crying now... "Carly, Carly!" I yell and try to grab her arms, let her know I'm here and I'm crying together with her but my hands just go through her body, I can't touch her, stop crying, baby, I beg you, I'm here, notice me...

Carly calms down suddenly and I'm relieved. Good, Carly. Brave Carly. Don't cry, don't cry for me, kid... My friend wipes the tears out of face and stands up, grabbing our photos where we're both happy and there are smiles on our faces. Carly stands in the middle of the room, contemplating the photos. Then she puts them on the desk and suddenly leaves the room. I want to follow her but I'm too shocked, I can't even move, I can't take a single step. I sit alone in the dark room, trying to think over the things I've just seen. Meeting Carly for the first time after dead was harder than I supposed.

When I'm finally able to stand up, Carly comes back to the bedroom. Her eyes are reddened and swollen but I'm proud of her, proud as damn, that she's not crying anymore because there's no one to cry for, it's just me, that agressive girl with no worth... But Carly can't refrain herself for a long time, she jumps on the bed and bursts in tears again what breaks my heart.

I can't, I can't take it anymore, nothing makes sense, how the hell have I to help my loved ones when they can't hear and see me? Why have I returned on this damn Earth? To look at my loved ones in mourning? "Are you satisfied?!" I yell, I don't know who at, I take my fury out.

I don't want to be here. I can't be here.

I come up to the window, go through it and stand on the cornice, looking down. The street is nearly forty yards under me, it's crowdy of people and cars. I grab the window nervously but I release it. After all, I'm freaking immortal, nothing will happen to me. Despite, I'm reluctant. But I'm so fed up with this everything, I've been on Earth for like twenty minutes and I'm done, I'm mad at Rafael, at the driver who hit and killed me, at myself.

I don't to be here anymore.

"I don't want to be here!" I yell, looking at the cloudy sky. "Do you hear me, Rafael!" I don't want to be here! Take me away, damn it!" I shout as loud I can, my throat is in pain. But – of course – nobody hears me, no one looks up but even if someone did, he wouldn't see a girl who stands on the cornice at the eighth floor.

I don't want it. I don't want this everything. I regret. I want to come back to the place I arrived from.

I turn around and see Carly who's still crying with face hidden in hands. My hearts breaks into million pieces.

I jump.

The flight is short. I don't feel a cold wind on my face and when I fall down, I don't feel any pain. I don't feel anything, although this downfall should kill me.

Well, you can't kill a corpse.

I stand up and run away from Bushwell as far as it's possible. This place isn't the same as it used to be, it's foreign and full of pain. A pain caused by me. I can't take it. I'm a bad person, I know it, and hurting people usually was funny to me. But hurting people I love the most, is not so funny. I scamper, trying to fight with burning tears streaming down my face. I run as fast I can but I don't get tired, I don't have to slow down. I think I could run to the East Coast while this week I've got. Maybe that's not bad idea?

_You're here to help your loved ones._

How, how the hell have I to help them? They can't see and hear me. What should I do? Why the hell has I come back here? Why couldn't I just die without seeing my best friends crying among our photos?

I stop. I'm at the Groovy Smoothie. I didn't planned to run here but my legs brought me here. "Stupid legs," I mutter and hit my thighs.

Maybe it's not a coincidence? Maybe I'm here in some purpose? _To help your loved ones..._

"Oh, shut up," I growl. It's one of the few advantages of being immaterial – you can talk to yourself and nobody will see this and think you're an idiot.

I come in the Groovy Smoothie. I'm surprised by an atmosphere inside – it's gloomy and quiet, so different as usual. There's not so much people as usual, they're sitting in small groups and talking quietly. I come up to the table where Wendy sits along with Brad, Sean and Rebecca Berkovitz and I eavesdrop shamelessly.

"I still can't believe it..." says Wendy quietly. "Sam and me have never been close friends but however..."

I raise my eyebrows. Of course. My death is the main subject, I should've guess it. It's stupid but it flatters me a little. I look around the Groovy Smoothie and my eyes stop at lonely, gloomy person sitting at the table in the corner.

Oh no. Oh no, no, no.

Freddie drinks his smoothie sadly, deep in thoughts. He's pale and looks like he hadn't been sleeping for like... two days? His hair is disheveled and there's a shadow of facial hair on his face – oh, Freddison and a facial hair on his baby face – and his shirt is creased.

"Freddie..." I whisper before I manage to refrain myself.

I hate Freddie. And, at once, I... like him. My heart squeezes when I see him being in such a poor condition, although I don't want it. But I can't fight with it. Freddie, nerdy Freddie, my ex–boyfriend which I'm still in...

No. No. No.

"Freddie..." I repeat and sit opposite to him. He doesn't look at me, although it's the only thing I want now. "Freddie, look at me. Freddie!" I yell, leading over him. There are only five inches between our faces and I'm shouting at him as loud I can but he doesn't hear me. Tears of rage and weakness stream down my face.

Fucking tears.

I raise my hand and try to knock Freddie's cup down to make him notice me finally but my hand just flies through his cup without any harm. I stand up violently. Normally I would fall over the chair but nothing happens.

Nothing. Nothing, damn it, happens!

"Fuck you, Rafael!" I yell, standing in the middle of the Groovy Smoothie and I point at the ceiling. "Fuck you!"

I run out of the Groovy Smoothie.

* * *

I spend rest of the day wandering in Seattle, trying to calm down. I shake and can't stop the tears what makes me angry even more. I want to eat something but I know I can't eat – it's the worst thing of all of it.

_You should be thinking how to help your friends!_

"I KNOW, OKAY?!" I stop suddenly. I know, damn, of course I know I have to 'help' my loved ones. But after seeing Carly and Freddie I'm too shocked to think about anything making sense. That's why I'm walking around Seattle for the rest of the day. I don't get tired and I don't notice all the miles I walked.

I saw only Carly and Freddie but I feel I should find out how is the rest – Spencer, Gibby... my mother.

My mother.

I should go home. After all, it's the place when you come back with pleasure after long, tiring journey. But not in my case. My home is – _was_ – Bushwell Plaza. That's where I died, that's where I started my new life. Not in my tiny, dark flat – in Bushwell Plaza.

It's getting dark and cold but I don't feel the cold. I reach to the Pike Place and go toward Waterfront. I stand by the crash barrier and look at dark, unfriendly bay and soon after I raise my head to look at the sky. It's cloudy, I can hardly see any stars.

_To help your loved ones, to help your loved ones._ Those words are still crashing in my head. I know I have to help them, that's why I'm here. Besides, I saw them and I know they need my help. I want to help them.

How the hell?!

"Will you give me any sign, Rafael?" I ask, staring at the sky. I feel incredibly stupid but after a while with a bitter surprise I remember that no one sees and hears me because I'm dead.

Dead. A cold, harsh word.

"I want to help them!" I yell. "Just tell me how to do it! Am I asking for too much?"

Silence. I close my hands into fists. Almost never I ask someone for help and in this rare cases when I do it, I hope the help will come. Mortified, I lead my head and look at the dark mass of water under me.

The noon passes and I'm still hearing crying Carly and seeing pale Freddie.


	3. Two

**A/N: Welcome in 2014! :) Once again, thanks for every review.**

**Invader Johnny - that was my purpose. ;) But Sam is a tough girl, she'll manage... I hope.**

**Ruki-0408 - that's so nice of you, thanks!  
**

**So, that's all for now. Read and review. :)**

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**Two**

I turn back with deep sigh – another human habit I shouldn't have anymore but I don't care. I try to think up some plan. I should find Spencer and Gibby. I should go home.

Yeaaah...

Something refrains me from coming home. What will I see there? My mother drowning her sadness into alcohol? Maybe Melanie, my perfect, annoying twin sister? It's my whole family, I don't have anyone but them. However, I don't want to see them now. And maybe I'm just not ready.

At once I'm aware that only six days has left.

I'm too tired to think over a plan – but it's only a metaphore because my body doesn't get tired _anymore_. My head doesn't pulse because of pain, my legs aren't sore, althought I've been walking for last few hours. Despite this I can't refrain myself from a deep sigh and brush my hair with a hand – I'm still having human habits. But what can I do? I've been on the Earth just for few hours.

I know I should value every hour, maybe even every minute but I decide to leave over for the morning being worried and realisation a plan which I don't have. I don't want to think about it now.

Although people think – and I also think – I'm a tough girl who's not scared of anything, I've always been reluctant to going to the most dangerous districts of Seattle, where at least mugging is sure after leaving house in after the twilight. But now, when I've got nothing to lose... why couldn't I satisfy my curiosity?

I'm trying not to think about the shit which I'm into now and calmly and slowly I walk toward the most dangerous district of Seattle. Curiosity, just ordinary human curiosity... but am I still a human? I'm not sure. However, if I'm here, if I'm one of these few people who received that Second Chance... So why couldn't I use it as intense as it's possible and do one little thing for myself?

Curiosity, just ordinary human curiosity...

They say that curiosity killed the cat. But I'm already dead, so I have nothing to lose.

The most dangerous district of Seattle where criminality and anarchy spread is located near to a district where I live – _lived_ – but I'm here for the first time in my life. Even I know that venturing here is almost a suicide. I walk with hands in my pockets on dingy, dark streets where every third lantern is lighting. I hear music rumbling from dirty, neglected houses and I see young people who are sneaking next to me, crooked. They faces are pale and tired.

_Why did I come here?_

Suddenly I hear a scream of fear. I turn around instinctively. I hear the scream again.

I don't even notice when I start running toward the scream. I reach to tiny dead end street. Someone has set fire a refuse bin and the fire lights in orange. I see three broad–shouldered boys and there's fourth on the ground, who's curling up, being hit by the jocks.

"Hey!" I yell and after I moment I realise they don't hear me. They're still beating the boy on the ground. "Leave him alone!" I shout. I can't restrain.

The madness bursts in me, it's like the fire in this burnt recycle bin. I can't take it, my cheeks are burning and I shake in anger and helplessness. Okay, maybe I'm selfish and lazy but, damn it, I can't take it when someone hurts a person weaker than himself.

I must do something.

"LEAVE HIM ALONE!" I squall although I know it won't help. I'm all in madness, I'm burning, I don't control myself, I grab a rock from the ground and I throw it in the nearest boy, he moans in pain and I grab everything I have around me and throw in them, I hurt them but I want them feel the pain, they look around, surprised, 'what the hell is that?', they ask and I laugh sneeringly, oh yeah, run away, bye, bye, jerks, you won't hurt the geeks anymore...

When they disappear, I take a deep breath which calms me down – although I don't have to do it because I don't need the oxygen. The boy–victim stands up slowly, wipes the blood from face, looks around for his savior and runs away a moment later. I smile triumphally, remembering what I've just done. And then I get numb.

I was throwing the rocks in boys who were hurting the forth one.

I was throwing.

I was grabbing.

_I was material._

I scream quietly and I crouch immediately to grab a rock but my hand just flies through it. I try three times but every time this same happens.

But few minutes ago I was grabbing these rocks and I was throwing them, like I was a human. How come I got human possibilities for a moment, how come my body became material?

I'm disoriented and I look around for an answer which doesn't come.

_You can save more than one life, Sam_, I remember Rafael's words. _More than one life..._

I saved that boy. If I didn't, attackers would beat him up to death.

I don't know how it happened but I _saved _him.

I'm confused, I don't know what to think. I've just made sure that Rafael's words are true. I saved someone's life. But was that boy someone I _should_ save?

Every life is equal.

But... how the damn did I do that? How come I became material suddenly? I can't understand it. Does it work only when I'm mad? I remember all annoying moments in my life and I try to grab a rock again, but – of course – I don't manage.

However, I saved someone's life. Even if I don't know that boy, even if I saw him for the first time in my life, I saved him from the harm.

Maybe I'm not so bad?

This accident, this awareness that I did something good, something what is connected with the purpose of me being here, gives me a power. I feel strong enough to do something what I wasn't able to do few hours ago.

Going home.

* * *

The building where I lived, looks exactly the same as when I left it for the last time. I'm not surprised, what could change? I died only two days ago.

Despite I feel confident after saving that boy's life, I feel a heaviness on my heart when I come in to our block. I go upstairs slowly, wondering about what I'll see in a flat. It's 3 a.m., will mother be home or did she decide to ride away again, telling nobody?

I stand by the scratched door of my apartment. Suddenly I feel that all my power flies away. No, I won't come in.

No, I can't run away. I'm here and I must go inside. I must.

I don't even try to open the door, I just go through them. The flat is dark and quiet – this is what I recognize after first seconds. I stand in the dark anteroom, listening. After a while I hear quiet sounds of TV, I recognize _Full House_. _Is anybody here?_, I want to ask but I keep in silence. I don't want to disturb the silence; I forget nobody hears me.

I go slowly to tiny living room and I scream quietly. On the couch, next to TV, lies my body, unconscious, torpid, the hair is disheveled...

Hey, wait a sec.

I come closer and crouch by the couch. The body is breathing and a moment later its hand shrinks. This body is alive.

It's Melanie.

My twin has been irritating me since I remember – she has always been _this better one_, this perfect, cute and innocent one. She was like Carly but my friend didn't annoy me, my sister did – maybe because she was my relative and mother has always compared us. _You should be like Melanie, why aren't you like Melanie?, it would be so easier if you were like Melanie..._ Melanie – an unattainable ideal.

But when I see her now sleeping, with swollen eyelids and tears streaming down her face – I start to pity her, although I didn't plan it. We've never had good relationship – actually, I should say that I've never had good relationship with Melanie. My sister was trying to fix it many times but every time I was running away and I realise it now.

I feel sorry because of Melanie, seeing her suffering. I would like to take her hand, pet her hair and tell her that everything is okay, that I'm here.

How come have I changed so much only in two days? Death influences on people, I suppose.

Suddenly I notice a movement in the kitchen. I stand up and walk toward it. And, again, I feel like somebody hit me in solar plexus. I open my mouth, shocked.

My mother is sitting by the kitchen table, surrounded by cigarette smoke. She's looking blankly on the wall and crying silently. Ash from the cigarette she's holding in a hand falls on the table, but she doesn't notice it.

I see my mother crying for the first time in my life. We argued hundreds times, hundreds times we were in trouble and after this for the first time I see my mother crying in thick cigarette smoke.

My mother. My mom.

I sit down next to her and look at her attentively. I observe every inch of her face, her eyes exactly the same as mine and Melanie, shapely nose. Her eyes are surrounded by crow's feet – she's over forty – but I'm still able to see the majesty and pride in her face. I've never noticed it but now I realise that my mom – mom, not mother – surely was more attractive when she was seventeen than me.

Hundreds times she told me that I'm useless, that I would end up on the street, she kicked me out from home few times – I insulted her badly – but now I don't care about it, now like never before I feel that she's my mom I actually _love_ and although I've never told her it, I know that's true.

I start to cry too.

Did I need to die to understand it?

This heavy, disturbed only by fake laughter in _Full House_ silence seems to be ludicrous, abstractive to me. Our flat is never quiet, there's always some sound – an argument, loud music, creak of bed. This silence crushes me, it's too much, I want to run out, run away from the problem like I was doing it when I was alive. But I can't, I must stay here even if I don't want to, because I'm supposed to help them.

I helped strange boy, I saved his life and I know it's a good sign – now I have to start to help people I love (although I realise it too late).

I'm full of pain I didn't expect to feel – I've never thought I would think about my mom and sister with so warm heart. I've never treated them as a family, Carly and Spencer were my family – I spend so many nights dreaming my surname is Shay, not Puckett and I don't have to be ashamed because of my mother.

I put my hand on mom's hand. Of course it just goes through it but I leave it – our two hands, together in some pseudo–hug, one in the half of second.

We're surrounded by cigarette smoke, tears are streaming down on mom's face.

I cry along with her. For the first time we're crying together, like moms and daughters – friends always do.

We're together, thinking about each other.

* * *

When the dawn comes, Melanie wakes up, as well as mom. They both start to make breakfast – actually, Melanie does, mom's not a good cook – like nothing happened, and they barely talk. At once, they don't hide the signs of tiredness and crying, they show it like a scars after long war, they're proud. Despite I've never noticed it, we're all the same – tough. I'm proud of them.

In the same time, in my head there are millions thoughts and I know that I must – that I already can – leave, think over events of last nights. I look at my mom and sister for the last time, when they're sitting by the table and eating sandwiches, even smiling – I smile too – and I leave.

The weather is better than yesterday. There are fair–grey clouds on the sky but I don't think it'll be raining. After living in Seattle for seventeen years, I learnt how to predict the weather almost as good as meteorologists. I often argued with Carly about the future weather and I was always right.

Carly... I see her curled up and crying again. I stand aghast. I realise I have to come back to Bushwell Plaza as soon as possible.

I walk across Carkeek Park and go pass a bench, where a man reading a newspaper sits. I stop suddenly, intrigued by a small article which I notice my name in.

_THE DEATH OF POPULAR WEBSHOW'S STAR_

_The co_–_host of the most popular webshow in the country _– iCarly – _Samantha Puckett, was hit by the car on October 19th. Seventeen_–_year_–_old girl has died next morning, due of injuries, after a long doctor's efforts._

_It's not stated if _iCarly _crew would continue the webshow after the tragical death of one host..._

I stop reading, shocked. _iCarly_! How come didn't I think about our webshow before? Will Carly and Freddie still do it? They managed without me once, when I was in a jail after that accident with Mexican governor (or whoever he was)... I smile slighly but I get serious after a moment. Today's Saturday, the day of broadcasting _iCarly_.

Another reason to go to the Bushwell Plaza.

Will Carly and Freddie will able to do the webshow? It's not only about doing it without me (about it too though, who am I trying to deceive), but... I saw them yesterday. Their hearts are broken. How come will they do such a happy, crazy webshow? But maybe they'll manage to deal with pain and smile and dance for the viewers? Not everybody know about my death, I guess...

I ran away from Bushwell Plaza yesterday, crying – that was pathetic – but today, after being in home, I've got fresh energy and I come back without doubts. It's kinda funny, I didn't expect visiting home would be so positive.

It's almost 11 a.m. – the time we do our first 'dress rehearsal' for _iCarly_. We repeat it all at 3 p.m. and we broadcast at 6 p.m... At least we've broadcast since today. Despite this I expect to see Carly and Freddie in the _iCarly_ studio, so without doubts I walk toward 8–C apartment, with fresh thoughts in my mind, with new hope...

...but when I come in, I stand aghast and my heart starts to pound.

Spencer.

A half–made sculpture (I'm not able to say what does it show but it's nothing new) is standing next to the kitchen counter, and there are some tools and materials on the floor. Spencer is working on it, he seems to be extremely focused.

It's stupid that I'm surprised, I should expect he would be here... but anyway, when I see him so suddenly, I feel a cold shiver on my back. He's a friend of mine too and – to be honest – he's the only person who _really_ understood me. He's also the only adult I've ever respected. He's like an older brother which I've always wanted to have.

It's surprising but restorative at once to see him trying to live normal, despite my death (I think he's moved due it too). I'm not mad at him that he doesn't spend all days in a numb, no! On the contrary – I'm so happy that he's still sculpturing, that he's trying to keep this all together. Of course, it's possible to notice that something is eating him – he's pale and there are dark circles under his eyes, like he hadn't sleep since yesterday

(then I don't know he spent all night on trying to calm crying Carly down)

– but it's so easier to observe him when he doesn't show his despair. I'm aware that _not_ showing the pain is much, much harder than showing it.

I'm impressed.

I observe Spencer working in silence, I look at the focussing on his face, at the hands using the tools so efficiently and are able to change bunch of rubbish into something making sense. I look at whole Spencer, at the kind of tenderness which with he's adding elements to the sculpture, at how he's treating it. Of course, I've always know that Spencer is totally in love with art but I've never noticed such subtlety and focusing in his moves.

Surely I would blush if I could – it seems to be so private to me, I feel undesirable, unnecesary. At once I can't take my eyes off from Spencer and I think about the time when I had crush on him...

...actually, if I may be honest for a while...

...I still do have crush on him.

Sure, I've known that Spencer loves art but I've never understood how could he see something making sense in a stack of stuff what normal people throw out, why was he so happy, holding heap of scrap–metal... But few moments spent on watching his focusing, absorbness on creating are enough to get it.

Now I notice how great artist Spencer is. Create something with materials isn't an achievement, an achievement is to create something _without_ any preparation.

Wasn't it similar with his taking care of Carly? He took her, although he had no idea about the consequences. Despite it he fought about her because he loved her. Yes, Spencer is definitely a person I admire.

I stand next to him and try to look at the sculpture his eyes but despite my level best I still have no idea what does it show. I smile slighly. That's so Spence.

When he steps aside to take a look in his sketchbook, my gaze follows him unawares. Spencer grabs a pencil, throwing the sketchbook on the floor unwittingly. "Damn," he mutters (I hear him swearing for the first time) and crouches to grab it. Before he does it, I see the page the sketchbook has opened. In this page there's a drawn woman with long wavy hair. There's something well–know in her.

I take a deep breath and an air goes to my lungs, useless.

The sketch shows _me._

I look at Spencer who's still continuing the working on sculpture. Why... why did he draw me? I'm surprised, amazed. I stare at Spencer. Does he... but if he didn't... if he didn't moved by my death, he wouldn't draw me, right? Although I'm not sure when the draft was created, I'm almost sure it was after my death.

Million contrary thoughts are crashing in my mind. You don't draw someone if he's neutral for you. And even if you do, you should inform that person about it. Is it possible to... I spin my head, embarrassed. No, these are stupid thoughts, _calm down_, I command myself. However, I'm aware of the feelings I have toward Spencer. _You can't kid yourself that he feels this same, you're just a kid. A dead kid._ Yeah, that's true. It's only my little crush, a trifle.

"Spence..." I gasp anyway. Used to being immaterial, I don't expect an answer. How amazed I am, when Spencer suddenly stiffen and takes his eyes off the sculpture, looking blankly ahead! I open my eyes widely in surprising and I stand in opposite of him. "Spencer?" I ask in disbelief. Is it possible that he hears me?! He looks around the room and I'm getting more and more shocked with every second. "Spencer!" I repeat his name like in a fever and he's still looking at the sculpture and the room, frowning. Eventually, he shakes his head slighly, mutters something like 'that's ridiculous' and backs to work.

I'm so confused that I hardly remember I came here for Freddie i Carly. I decide to leave the living room before I get heart attack (ha, ha), although I've got a feeling I should stay here because it seems that Spencer heard me or at least experienced my presence.

This is so weird.

As I expected, Carly and Freddie are in the _iCarly _studio on the attic. They're both squatting on the floor and there are sheets of paper around them. For a second I'm afraid these are our photos but no, they're just sheets with ideas. But both Carly and Freddie don't even look at them.

"I think we should do a regular webshow," Freddie says and Carly glances at him, her face is hidden under hair. "We can't break and destroy it all."

"I don't think it's accurate," Carly doubts, "you know, only few days have passed since Sam's death," her voice breaks a little, "and we'll have fun while doing the show? Besides it, doing _iCarly_ without Sam makes no sense..."

"Sam would like us continuing _iCarly_ with no changes," Freddie says, leaning over her.

Freedo is right, I state it with crossing my arms on the chest. I want them still doing _iCarly_ because I know it would keep them in normality, although it would be painful. I want them to continue the webshow without changing it on _let's mourn Sam for few years_, I want them random dancing, messing with Lewbert or trying to convince the cowboy that his moustache is a squirrel once again.

"You think so?" Carly asks quietly.

"Yes," Freddie answers and grabs her hands.

Oh.

I should've expected it, shouldn't I? Carly and Freddie, united in pain after losing me... Isn't it natural that it's happening, sooner or later? Despite this some unpleasant feeling appears in my heart. I'm ashamed to admit it but I suppose it's a jealousy.

Why am I jealous of my friends? I should be happy that they're comfort each other, that they're together in a hard time...

They're together. Literally.

"Let's do _iCarly_ as we always do. As Sam would like to do," convinces Freddie softly, his thumb is drawing circles on Carly's hand. I wince unawares. "It'll be hard but the world didn't end, Carly, let's our webshow be the only thing the same, fine?"

"Fine," agrees Carly, uncertainly though. Suddenly I stop being irrational jealous and there's a warm and pride of my friends in my heart. Yes, this is what they should do. They should keep on doing _iCarly_ like nothing never happened.

I stand in the door, so I come up to my friends and crouch next to them, looking at them with tenderness. Freddie holding Carly's hands doesn't bother me anymore.

"We're gonna do the webshow," Carly says, more certainly. It seems that warmth of Freddie's hands (what I know so well) makes her more relieved. "We're gonna everything as always. You're right, Freddie, this is what Sam would like us to do. I'm sure she's looking at us from the heaven right now and she thinks 'mama likes it' or something like that..." She smiles slighly and Freddie giggles. Carly giggles too.

I laugh with them.

* * *

Carly and Freddie are fantastic, they do the webshow better than anytime before. It's obviously calmer, my friends still can't laugh after my death (I hope they could, though) but despite this I'm so proud of them that I feel like my heart grew twice.

After _iCarly_ they go to the Groovy Smoothies. I follow them, so happy that nothing changed.

Well, almost, but who cares.

I can't stop smiling when I see my friends being definitely in better mood. I notice something awkward in their behaviour but it's kinda cute, they're like a child who's learning how to walk and falls. Freddie and Carly learn again how to smile and feel positive and I sit right next to them and I cross my fingers for them.

Somewhere deep in my mind I think about Spencer and his sketch showing me but I decide that I'll think over it later. Now I want to focus on Carly and Freddie, saturate their positive emotions. It's so good to see them happy again, I want their shyly smiling faces to replace these crying and worried stuck in my head.

Another day passes and I feel I'm closer to the target again.


End file.
